Decidedly Obscure Human Complaints.

… pondering deeply about such things like what position I’d prefer to be in if I ended up in The Human Centipede, when I will go buy more wet food for Evilbunny (my cat) and a bleach pen for the white Hanes© shirts I wear every day, getting mula for school books, and whatnot - eventually the realisation of how seriously lucky I am in the tranny department comes creeping in.

Prior to starting hormone therapy a few years ago, I had literally resolved to stop dating. Zilch, done, ~fin~. It was just, too painful and triggering. Every attempt was an incredibly potent reminder of how I was trapped in a body that felt disconnected and uncomfortable. It wasn’t worth crying every single time and spiralling into weeks of hopelessness. Without intimacy, I could bind and never look at myself in the nude. Easy peasy. Solution foreva!

But, the idea of hormones sounded almost as awful. Losing my androgyny and looking like a boring ol’ greasy cisgender dude? Eff no. Heading down a path that insurance companies and numerous doctors explicitly exclude? Uh, no. Increasing my testosterone levels that are associated with shaving years off one’s life, increasing cancer risk, liver damage, increased cholesterol, acne, etc.? No, no, and no. Then finding a trans-friendly therapist, getting “the letter”, finding a hormone doctor, starting hormones, changing my name, maybe changing my gender (initially I wasn’t planning to), saving for top surgery, health risks, getting a hysterectomy eventually? Insurmountable!

At the time.

But, gadz. I’d lived with the disconnect for way too long and prioritised my physical health at the expense of my mental health. So I crackled, popped, fizzled, and started. I had a full-time salary job with health insurance and plunged in. Therapist, letter, doctor, hormones - check!. Then I began saving for top surgery. Then I was laid off. Job application after job application went nowhere. I was okay at first - but then, over time, I started to feel defeated and fell into a narrative of mopey feelin’ hopelessness. How would I save up for top surgery without money? How would I go in for much-needed physicals and check-ups without insurance?

Going back to school made me even more uninsured broke ass. When I forced myself to put a stupid little donation button on this blog for my surgery, I really didn’t think it would go anywhere. But a little over two years and a fund-raiser later, I ended up with enough. I couldn’t believe it. Still don’t, almost. It happened! For real! They’re gone! WTF!

Everything about this journey has been the most inspiring experience. All of the support I’ve received is a constant, blatant reminder that despite a lot of obstacles, there’s a whole world of selfless and compassionate people. And we attract one another. I’ll live the rest of my one and only life surrounded by such super neat, giving, and amazing people.

Rad.

So, there I was in my pantaloons, realising all of this and wondering, how did I ever feel like this was impossible and hopeless? I did start hormones. I did find doctors. I did change my name and gender. I did go back to school. I did get surgery. I did end up in a relationship. I did find a world of support. And I feel better than I ever have in my entire life.